


Taming The Iron Lady

by thedishonourablelady



Category: Iron Lady (2011), Political RPF - UK 20th-21st c.
Genre: AU in which Francois Mitterrand speaks English, Aphrodisiacs, F/M, Fivesome - F/M/M/M/M, Gangbang, Humiliation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Political Humiliation Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-15
Updated: 2017-09-15
Packaged: 2018-12-30 06:09:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12102456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedishonourablelady/pseuds/thedishonourablelady
Summary: Four socialist leaders are sick of Margaret Thatcher's antics and hatch a plot to put her back in her place.





	Taming The Iron Lady

"And that, gentlemen, is why socialism simply cannot succeed." She took the last sip of wine from her glass and then placed the glass firmly onto the coffee table as if to punctuate the end of her speech. Her firmness certainly seemed to have an effect on the four socialist visitors in her hotel room, as Neil Kinnock, Francois Mitterand, Olof Palme, and Mikhail Gorbachev all sat silently and stared into their own wine glasses, not wishing to offer a rebuttal.

Suddenly, Margaret realised that she was starting to squirm in her seat a little bit. A familiar tickle had started between her legs, spreading into her womb. She tried to sit as still as possible, not wanting her body or her expression to betray what she was feeling. Presumably, her body needed to release some tension after being deprived of intimacy for so long by her hectic work schedule. How long had it been since she and Denis had last made love? Four days, five? She tried not to think about what she wanted to do to her husband as soon as they were alone together.

"Did you like the wine, Margaret?" asked Mitterand. "I bought it especially as I thought you would like it."

Margaret looked Mitterand in the eye to tell him that yes, the wine was lovely, and that she had noticed that it had had a strangely sweet flavour that she'd never tasted in wine before, but she was distracted by how strong and masculine the French President looked. The aching between her legs seemed to be growing more intense by the second, and her womb now felt as if it were on fire. She looked at the four men in her hotel room and realised that any one of them could give her what she needed, any one of them could dissolve the ache right there and then.

Horrified by her sudden lasciviousness that seemed to override all of her political instincts, all Margaret managed to say was, "Oh, yes, I liked it." She stood up to leave - to get to the privacy of her bedroom. It didn't particularly matter where she went; she just needed to get away from those four socialists, away from their cocks, away from the ever-growing threat that she would not only betray her husband's trust, but her political ideals too.

"Whatever is the matter, Margaret?" asked Mr Gorbachev, who reached out to place a hand on her arm. "You never go to bed this early. I hope that you are not ill?"

"No, I'm not ill," she replied quickly, pulling her arm away from Gorbachev's reach. "But perhaps I have let the wine go to my head a bit. Excuse me, gentlemen."

Mitterrand chuckled. "Oh, yes. It also has some intense - what do you call it? - oh, yes, aphrodisiacal properties." 

An aphrodisiac? The heat that licked at her insides was now joined by horror as the reality of what was about to happen dawned on her. She was alone with four men who had planned to rape her. She ordered her body to walk away and save herself from this vile assault, but it stayed rooted to the spot, allowing Mitterrand to wrap his arms around her waist.

"Of course, my presence alone can have an aphrodisiacal effect on women." Mitterrand continued, his hand brushing her breasts, "And the combined effect of us four handsome fellows must be too great for any woman to resist. And you really are only a woman, aren't you, beneath that cold exterior? Your womanly instincts are craving this."

He was not wrong. She did want this, although that was only because these four foul men had drugged her into a state of false arousal. And there was no way she could get away from this situation - there was nobody else around to help her, and she was no match physically for these four strong, masculine men. Surely it would not be such a bad thing to surrender to what they all wanted? Nobody could have expected her to do anything else.

Margaret was acutely aware of the silence in the room, and desperately tried to think of something to say. Every brush of the French president's hand against her breasts made her clitoris throb, crying out for attention, and she felt as if her mind had been transported to the aching hole between her thighs. Eventually she managed to let out the words, "Please, just get on with what you have to do. Do it quickly."

Mitterrand chuckled again, and said, "Well, I would love to help you quench the heat you're feeling,", pressing the hard bulge in his trousers against her bottom to emphasise his point, making Margaret's cunt clench in anticipation, "But I believe that there are some things that the other gentlemen here would like to do first."

Margaret knew that the tone of his voice ought to have made her afraid, but her mind only seemed to be able to register the fact that she would soon be filled and satisfied. At any rate, she did not have enough time to wonder what exactly they were going to do to her before Mitterrand dragged her onto the sofa she had been sitting on just minutes before. She looked up, and the sight of four of her most passionate political opponents staring down at her was enough to make her clench. 

Neil took a deep breath; it took him a while to be able to make the transition from treating the Prime Minister with the grudging respect her position merited to dominating her in a way that he never would have been able to get away with before. “We can give you what you want,” he told her, punctuating his statement by thrusting his hips closer to her face. He was already straining against his trousers at the sight of his imperious Prime Minister so flushed and helpless, and the sight of his bulge made Margaret gasp with anticipation, dripping with the thought that relief was only a few centimetres away. “But we aren’t particularly inclined to give you anything after the way you have spoken about us and everything we stand for. We want you to make an apology. Only after we feel that you have done penance for your previous behaviour will we even think about giving you the...  _ relief _ that you need.”

Concentrating on Neil’s words allowed Margaret to pull her focus away from her physical desires and to appreciate the sheer humiliation of what these men, her political opponents, had planned to do to her. “No!” she cried, trying to turn herself back into the powerful, impenetrable ‘Iron Lady’ she had been just a few moments ago. She stood up, so that her words might have more weight coming from someone with a taller stature, and told them “I won’t grovel before you! Not for anything! Please, I think it would be much better if you all left.” 

Neil had astonished himself with how easily he could assume this dominant role, but Margaret’s sudden resistance was enough to shock him back into his usual deference to the most powerful woman in the country. He took a step back, and would have abandoned everything that they had planned if it weren’t for Olof Palme pushing her back down onto the sofa by her shoulders - it was difficult for a man to act authoritative towards a woman who was only a few inches shorter than himself - and slapping her across the face. 

“Don’t try to act so strong and powerful now, you little  _ bitch _ .” Olof snarled in her face, the words that had been left unsaid for so long now falling freely from his lips, “You’ve been such a bitch towards us for so long, and now it’s time you apologised to us for your behaviour.” The slap had taken Margaret by surprise, and she could do nothing but listen numbly, helplessly, as Olof spoke. “I think that you are in need of some corporal punishment.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Olof Palme was the Social Democrat Prime Minister of Sweden from 1969-76 and then from 1982 until his assassination in 1986. He was no fan of Margaret Thatcher, calling her 'a true extremist'.  
> I've been wanting to write this, my first ever RPF, for some time now. Hopefully I will be able to update it soon.


End file.
